Sudden Realisations
by the lola
Summary: "He hates her. Those knowing little eyes that peel him apart layer by layer and hold them up to the light so he has to confront his flaws are in his dreams- his nightmares."


He slumps against icy metal bars, no longer able to hold himself up. What is she doing to him? He shakes his head vigorously, rubbing his hands over the painful spot on his forehead.

"_I don't think you're a bad person Theodore." _

Why would he _care_ if she thought he was a bad person? He didn't know. It makes his mind feel like there is a constant buzzing, because there is constantly a part of him connected with _her_.

He slams his head against the hard poles, he doesn't_ care! _He _is_ a bad person, he's glad to be a bad person. Right?

"_I don't understand you Theodore. But I'm sure I'll have plenty of time here, so I will understand eventually." _

His heart is being beaten, it's always being beaten and it's so beaten by this point he can barely feel it pumping. He's not _supposed_ to have a heart.

He doesn't know what she's hoping to understand- he is what she sees. His morals are shallow and his personality is for the most part non existent, he doesn't know _how_ to love, nor how to _like_. What is there to find out? He utterly _loathes_ the thought of her dreamy voice slicing his skull with an analysis of which made up creatures have made him the way he is.

She irritates him but she intrigues him and he can't _stand_ being around her.

"_It's okay that you have to do this. I know you don't want to." _

He screws his eyes shut, trying to force her out of his mind- trying to get her screams to stop vibrating through his body.

Confusion. Confusion is the only recognizable reasonably positive emotion she makes him feel, and he _hates_ it. He _hates_ her. Those knowing little eyes that peel him apart layer by layer and hold them up to the light so he has to confront his flaws are in his dreams- his nightmares.

"_You feed me better than them." _

The little analysis' she makes are slowly killing him for she is _always_ right. He _does _feed her better than them, and for the life of him cannot work out _why, _for it was a completely subconscious action.

Why does she haunt him? There are hundreds of other prisoners, and it's just _her_ who does this to him. He digs his blunt nails into his palms until he draws blood- hoping for something to focus on but her knowing eyes, her matter-of-fact words, her emaciated body.

A pained scream reverberates around the dank dungeons. It's _her_. He springs to his feet and runs to her door- there's hundreds of rooms yet it's _hers _that's engrained into his mind. Why?

He realizes when he gets to the door that he can't help her; he doesn't understand why he wanted to help her. He doesn't, he tells himself as he races out of the dungeons to escape from the chilling screams.

"_Something in your heart has changed, Theodore." _

He stands in his shower, the water scalding his back and scrubbing desperately to make her go _away. _His skin is so raw, like he's scrubbed off layers upon layers of skin, but she's still there. She's embedded herself, like ink, woven herself, like thread.

But why? He's still scrubbing, desperate for her to go away, to wash off her screams- they aren't his fault! So why does he feel like they are? He doesn't understand. He _hates_ her; she irritates him to the core. He just wants her to disappear- to never have had this job.

"_You'll see, Theodore." _

How he _hates_ that she always uses his name, and how he _loathes _that she always seems to know something he doesn't- fire runs through his veins at the thought of this. He'd tried _demanding_ for what she knew- she'd never tell and it infuriated him to no end for she _knew_ he would never kill her. Maybe he would, it would show her. It would teach her a lesson; it would get her out of his way.

Except it wouldn't. She already took up most of his thoughts- he dreaded the reaction his mind would have to _murdering _her. He desperately wishes he had it in him to just get rid of her, but he doesn't. He couldn't.

He looks at the clock on his wall. _Midnight_. Grimacing, he realizes that this means midnight checks. Not wanting to see _her_ again, he takes his time redressing, watching the clock as it ticks with narrowed, tired eyes.

Opening the door to her straight face, he realizes. It hits him like a gust of wind, and he can't believe it wasn't obvious before. It hurts so much that he doubles over; suppressing heaves- he can't quite believe it. And as much as it hurts, it sends his heart pumping, and it's _there_ for once, definitely.

He has to do something! She's emaciated, she's bleeding, she's sleep deprived- she'll die.

She can't die.

"You realized, didn't you Theodore?" She says in her usual serene voice, even though it's now hoarse and barely a whisper.

He stands staring at her, unable to say a single word.

"I have ideas, you know. I've had a lot of time to think down here."

All he manages is to raise his eyebrow in reply.

"To escape, Theodore."

He realizes then, that this was what he was always going to do, from the first day he set eyes on her in this cramped little room.

* * *

A/N- Well well… another Theodore&Luna piece for you guys! I'm going to dedicate this to **Couture Girl**, because well, she's great, and she introduced me to this wonderful pairing! You might think Luna is slightly out of character, but in my opinion for this she has to be. She's being held prisoner, she's being tortured, she's being starved, she's sleep deprived, I don't think she'd be her usual self. I wrote this for The Speed of Lightning Competition Round Two. We had to write something angsty, is this angsty enough? Sorry for the huge AN.

**Don't forget to review lovely people! It means the world.**


End file.
